


Gravitational Constants

by sequence_fairy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Post S7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 22:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: James never expected that he and Keith would fall together again after everything, the same way that they used to when they were still students, and yet, here he is, in Keith’s newly assigned quarters, buried to the hilt with Keith’s hips in a bruising grip, cataloging the new scars on Keith’s skin and trying not to hear someone else’s name in Keith’s bitten-off moans.





	Gravitational Constants

**Author's Note:**

> Smut + angst in that particular combination that I most prefer. Here I am, writing ~1900 of fic based on a couple of split-second interactions in canon and a desire to leave things in an absolute ruin.

It’s like it always was, James thinks, as Keith strips him of his shirt, and then tugs his own off over his head. Except it’s not at all, because the body James remembers did not have this tightly leashed, deadly strength, or these broad shoulders that let Keith cage him in against the wall. Oh, Keith was always plenty strong, but something’s happened to him in that nearly half a decade in space - there’s something more than just strength in the grip of Keith’s hands on James’ biceps. James doesn’t have time to analyse the changes, too busy with the fact that Keith’s hands are already on his belt and then pulling him free. **  
**

Keith’s hands are cool, but they heat up fast and so does James. “God,” James says, the word dragged out of him by the hands on his cock, jacking him slow and steady, and Keith’s teeth in the join of his neck. James wonders if it’s been as long for Keith as it has for him, and then he decides it doesn’t matter, because he’s got Keith’s skin under his hands and it could be forever or it could have been last week and it will still be just like this.

The wall against his back is hard, but James doesn’t let it bother him, preferring instead to chase Keith’s mouth, kissing him hard. Keith rears back, and the sudden distance makes James stop where he’s trying to get into the rest of Keith’s flightsuit.

“Don’t,” Keith says, it’s the first word he’s said since he pushed James through the door of his quarters. Keith’s eyes are flint. “Don’t.”  

James doesn’t question the refusal. They used to kiss, now they don’t. James isn’t going to push for that, given that he was never going to push to start whatever this is between them back up again either.

Keith drops to his knees and takes James’ pants down with him. Keith’s mouth is just as good as it always was, and James’ head thunks back against the wall when Keith gets to work. “Fuck,” James grits out. He wants to look, always did then too, loving the way Keith’s eyes would widen each time James’ hips stuttered forward of their own volition, and the glitter of tears that would spring up when he pushed too hard. He settles for gripping Keith’s hair, unsure if he’s still allowed to look.

They didn’t talk about the rules, and not knowing what else has changed shifts James off his usual axis and leaves his footing unstable against the onslaught of Keith’s mouth.

Keith is still messy about this and James revels in this thing that has remained the same through all the years they’ve been apart. Keith was always a sin; spit-slick and unholy mouth beneath those fuck me eyes that he always used to make, staring up at James from the floor.

He wants to look. God does he want to look. He wants to know if Keith’s watching him the way he used to, or if Keith’s eyes are closed, imagining someone else’s dick and someone else’s hand in his hair. James isn’t stupid, he always knew he was just a stand-in for Shirogane, just a proxy for what Keith really wanted. He didn’t mind then, and truth be told, he doesn’t mind so much now, because Keith still sought him out, still pushed him down the hallway to his quarters and whispered in his ear with his hands on James about how good he’ll make it. James thinks too, about how Keith had tacked on that hopeful little ‘please’ at the end, like he wasn’t sure James was still a sure thing.

Something a bit more shameful than James is used to flashes through him at the thought of how easy he made it, but he buries it, refusing to examine that particular thread until a time when Keith is not blowing him like he’s the last man on earth.

He grips Keith’s hair tighter, wrenching the other man off his cock, and looks down. Keith is a vision like this, his hair tight in James’ grip, eyes wide and pupils blown, lips shiny. “Christ, Keith,” James groans and lets him go. Keith’s hum of appreciation reverberates around James’ cock, and that drags a moan up out of James’ throat and the dam bursts.

“Yeah,” James says to the ceiling, as Keith sucks him off like no one else has ever done, “just like that.” Keith swallows around him, and James feels his world constrict around the wet suction of Keith’s mouth and the press of Keith’s tongue. “Fuck, Keith,” James says. The breath goes out of him in a hiss when he feels the drag of Keith’s teeth against the side of his cock. James’ free hand thuds into the wall, fist clenched around the desire to come.

He wants more than just to make a mess of Keith’s face. He’s not sure he’ll get another chance at this, and James wants everything he can get. He hauls Keith off his cock again. The questioning look on Keith’s face lasts only a moment before he’s getting to his feet.

James steps out of his pants and pushes Keith towards the bunk. Keith goes, falling back when his knees hit the edge and James follows him down. James strips off the bottom of Keith’s flightsuit, freeing his cock and James licks his lips, relishing the way Keith’s eyes flutter shut as James’ hand goes around him.

James jacks him, slow and steady, listening to the way Keith’s breathing changes, and watching the flush creep down his chest. Keith’s always been quiet with him, was never a talker, and James doesn’t wonder if that’s different with anyone else, he doesn’t. He keeps his hand wrapped around Keith, and reaches up, fumbling in the nightstand for what he knows he will find.

Keith’s always been a bit of a boy scout, and James has never been more grateful. He pops open the bottle, slicks his fingers, and slides his hand up and down Keith’s cock, coating it liberally from root to tip. Keith groans, and James smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to Keith’s hipbone.

Keith throws an arm over his face, the other clenches in the sheets and James watches it go white-knuckled as he traces the pads of his fingers over Keith’s hole, dipping in but not quite pushing inside, taking his time because he can, because he wants to and because he might never get a chance again.

They never used to prep slowly, James remembers, as he sinks one finger in carefully, listening to the way Keith’s breath hitches. Both of them were too impatient to wait, too desperate for the clutch and grab of the other’s body, for the burn of that first thrust, for the moment when it changed from tingling pain to molten pleasure, but now, James has Keith laid out in front of him, and he is going to take his time.

Keith pushes back against his hand, and James adds another finger. Keith’s hips tilt, and James blows out a breath, watching Keith’s cock jump as he does. The hand over Keith’s face lifts, and James scissors his fingers, for the pleasure of watching Keith’s eyes close and his mouth drop open.

“Fuck,” Keith manages, ending the word with his teeth in his lip. The thrill that races through James’ gut makes him blush. He sinks another finger in, and Keith arches, spine drawn taut and the moan that escapes his gritted teeth gives James a headrush as all the blood in his body draws south. James twists his hand, curling his fingers, and this time, Keith can’t help the punched out groan that seems to crawl up from the base of his spine.

James grins, and shifts so he can take Keith in hand again, while continuing the press and drag of his fingers deep inside. Keith’s thighs tremble. James continues working him open, watching the way Keith bites his lip to keep himself quiet, watching Keith’s hands - one on the sheets near his hip, grip white-knuckled, the other buried in his own hair. James knows he’s pulling, can nearly feel the sparking static pain on his own scalp.

When he decides he’s let this go on long enough, James circles his free hand around the base of Keith’s cock, squeezing mercilessly. Keith whimpers and James pulls out his fingers. Keith gasps in naked disappointment at the loss. James taps Keith’s hip, and rises onto his knees. Keith turns over willingly, going up on hands and knees, head hanging between his shoulders.

James slicks himself, sliding his cock through the cleft of Keith’s ass just to watch him shiver and clench, looking for what he wants. James makes him wait, wants to hear Keith ask for it.

Keith obliges after a long moment of torture for both of them. “Fuck me,” he says, voice gravelly.

The words go straight to the base of James’ spine, and before he can even think about it, he’s thrusting forward and sliding home. He has enough presence of mind to ease into it, but Keith will have none of that and pushes back, wanton, until James is buried within him. James waits again, breath heaving in his lungs, and Keith lifts his head, eyes searing. “What are you waiting for? Fuckin’ move.”

James doesn’t waste any more time. He draws back, and slams home again, and Keith’s back arches under the thrust, pushing back at James to meet him in the middle of the next one. “You feel so–ah–so good,” James mutters, sweeping a hand down Keith’s side, feeling the way his ribs expand around every breath.

The world diminishes to the sound of skin on skin and the counterpoint of Keith’s breath to the ragged rhythm of James’ own. James grips Keith by the hips, fingers digging in, and he hopes he’s leaving bruises, hopes Keith will look at them in the morning and remember the feel of James’ hands on him, remember the way every thrust made him moan, remember the way James can’t help but say Keith’s name every time he bottoms out.

The door to Keith’s quarters slides open on a quiet hiss. James looks up from where he’s watching himself buried in Keith, traces his gaze along the line of Keith’s spine and looks into eyes that are wide, shocked and framed by white brows.

James’ hips stutter to a halt, and the air seems to go out of the room in a gasp. Beneath him, Keith pushes back against him, too caught up his quest for release to even realise they have company. When James doesn’t move, Keith finally looks up.

The sound that comes out of Keith then is a mortal wound. James will hear it until he dies. It’s the lieutenant’s name, wrecked and wanting and hollow in a way that makes James think of the void of deep space. Shirogane doesn’t make a sound, and he’s gone before either of them can even move.

When the door closes behind Shirogane’s retreat, James cannot disengage fast enough. He pulls out, and Keith collapses. Dying stars have more grace, James will think later, but for now, all he can think about is the way betrayal had looked on the lieutenant’s face. He’ll never be able to unhear the way that Keith said his name, the way his voice had rasped, hoarse from how deeply he’d taken James’ cock earlier, and God, James has got to get out of here.

He snags his pants, pulls them on, and leaves Keith on his bed.

The door closes behind him, blocking out the rest of the wretched sound that was rising from Keith’s lungs. James pulls his shirt back on, thankful the hallway is empty, and walks away. He needs a shower.


End file.
